


To make Routine a Stimulus

by middlemarch



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: American Civil War, Coffee, Doctors & Physicians, F/M, Romance, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 13:50:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8535607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: Drink to me only with thine eyes.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sassy_doctor_foster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassy_doctor_foster/gifts).



“Dear Lord! What is this?” Jed sputtered and choked. 

He’d lifted up the cup and taken a swallow without paying it much mind; Mary had been bringing him fresh coffee without his even asking for weeks now and he’d assumed tonight was the same. He’d clearly been very much mistaken.

“Oh dear! I hadn’t meant that for you—that is poor Private Hamilton’s, I made a tonic for him and I must have set that down instead of your coffee. I do apologize,” Mary replied, rising and crossing to take the cup from his hand. 

He should have noticed it was a rude crockery mug and not the slightly chipped china cup and saucer she usually brought him. She looked so charmingly domestic and demure, with her fresh apron and cheeks rosy from the fire’s warmth, he felt devilish and couldn’t resist teasing her. He didn’t relinquish the cup and she was startled, unbalanced by it, gave him a questioning look he found he was very fond of and preened a little at being its sole recipient. He reached further and circled her wrist with his fingers; her pulse was steady beneath his fingertips, the ulna’s styloid process elegant and perfect where it peeped from her buttoned cuff.

“You didn’t answer, not properly—what is it? Mary?”

“It’s sassafras and calendula, it’s a strengthening tonic. It suffers our lack of honey,” she replied, her voice soft even as she tried to be matter-of-fact. She made no move to withdraw her hand from his grasp.

“You’ve made this before?” he asked. He would have asked any question to keep her before him, talking to him and telling him what he wanted to know. How many before she would tell him a secret?

“No. Belinda, Miss Gibson, she recommended it and gave me her receipt, but I didn’t have all the ingredients. I thought we’d just have to make do,” Mary said. 

“I suppose we must. Doesn’t seem you stinted on the sassafras though,” Jed added, smiling up at her, coaxing her as he could with his glance, the tone of his voice. 

“If you’ll let me, I’ll take this to Mr. Hamilton and bring you your coffee. It’s a cold night, you could do with something hot,” she said.

“Only if you bring two cups. I don’t like to drink alone, not even a cup of coffee,” he said. It had never been truer. She had a way about her, Mary, he found it hard to be dishonest with her or around her, even if he wished. It seemed she could see straight through him, it seemed he liked that as well.

“You needn’t,” she said. She’d paused after she spoke, as if she would have added something, perhaps an endearment? Or was that only his hope, his reckless, daring hope that he could not quell, not when he saw her dark eyes, the tender curve of her smile, her purposeful hands that he knew to be gentle and deft?

“Jedediah, let me go now. I’ll be right back,” she said. He let go of her hand and she nodded, an acknowledgement of what was and what had been, that she knew he would be waiting for her.

“You might look through those papers I gave you, about the re-organization and the wards. I’m afraid Captain McBurney is quite determined to do things just as he sees fit but he hasn’t your understanding of how this place works,” she remarked, walking towards the door. 

He’d put the battered folio she’d given him to one side in favor of the medical journal that had arrived lately from France but which had failed to hold his interest; now he would read through the pages she’d assembled, closely written in her fair hand, nothing wasted in ink or thought, fully annotated and detailed, and they would surely keep his attention till she returned with the tray of coffee. Her hands pouring out, her look of intelligent query, the delicate arch of her upper lip would be all the tonic he needed.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied and she walked out laughing. He settled back, opened the leather folio, and began to read.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a gift when I have hardly wanted to write at all. Perhaps it will be a tonic to some readers.
> 
> The title is from Emily Dickinson.


End file.
